Accusations d'amour
by loboscuro
Summary: Betty's going to Paris with her boss?
1. Chapter 1

**Accusations d'amour**

A/N: this little fic is set during the time when Betty is still with Walter. It may or may not be D/B in the end.

* * *

**With your _boss_  
**

"Wow, this is really cool," Betty said. "I mean, I'm going to _Paris_!" The overload of enthusiasm in her voice was to make up for the expressly disgruntled expressions of her family members.

"Yes, you are," Hilda agreed. "The capital of romance."

Betty smiled widely at her sister, happy to finally hear a positive thing instead of another lecture about _you've never been out__ of__ this continent before what do you think you'll do if you get lost you never even took French you don't even know the people you're going with__ very well_ - well, you get the gist.

"With your _boss_," Hilda then added, rather ruining the previous supportive effect.

Betty sighed. "Hilda...do you _want_ me to be…in love with Daniel, or something? You can't stop bringing it up whenever you can."

"Well I can't help it," Hilda said. "You give me so many opportunities – that all night date –"

"It was a _business dinner_."

"-answering his phone calls all the time, talking about his problems all the time –"

"I do not!"

"_Daniel this, Daniel that_ – oh and him spending Christmas here drunk -"

"That was because of Sofia."

"Yeah, well, I'm just saying. Plenty of times huh."

There was a silence, and after a three second gap of safety Betty felt relaxed enough in the truce to exhale –

"Really, _Paris_, Betty. That's like someplace you should go with your _boyfriend_."

"Well, I'm not," Betty said, skimming over yet another Daniel-boyfriend-inference. "Not going there with Walter, that is. Seriously, Hilda, Walter had a problem with me working at _Mode_. How do you think he'd handle a week in Paris? Pretentious views, pretentious language..." She rolled her eyes.

"Hey, chica. He's your boyfriend," Hilda said, raising an eyebrow.

"I know," Betty mumbled.

_Lacking enthusiasm, aren't we_, Hilda thought, and for once keeping her thoughts to herself. This seemed more serious, something not to joke about. It seemed Betty really wasn't…into…Walter anymore, no matter how sweet he was or how hard he tried. It just…wasn't there.

"Speaking of Walter, how did he react to this news?" Ignacio asked, while trying to unbend the frown that had stuck to his face since Betty had announced her trip.

"Oh you know," Betty said, vaguely. "Like Walter does."

Hilda narrowed her eyes at Betty. "You haven't told him, have you?"

Betty was silent; Hilda tapped her foot on the floor rather menacingly, once.

"Okay! I haven't!" Betty said.

"Ooh," Hilda said, smirking slightly.

"Don't go at it again, Hilda," Betty warned. "I haven't told him…yet. And because…I don't think he'd take it well. At all."

"Oh I don't know," Hilda mused. "I'd be pretty cool with the thought of my girlfriend jetting off to the most romantic city in the world with the most notorious playboy of New York."

"The notorious playboy who happens," Betty said, through gritted teeth, "to be my boss and my _friend_."

"Friend-"

"Stop," came a weak voice from the kitchen table. "_Me duele la cabeza_."

The two girls turned to the source, which turned out to be a feeble looking Ignacio at the kitchen table.

"Papi never gets headaches," Betty said. "You are some talker, Hilda."

"Why –"

Ignacio groaned melodramatically.

* * *

Betty sighed and turned over in her bed.

Really, Hilda would need to tone it down. She was getting extremely irritating. It wasn't even vaguely amusing any more.

Papi would let her go, because it _was_ work – Fashion Week 2007 – and it wasn't like she didn't know Daniel, he'd grudgingly admitted.

Walter…she'd probably work up the nerve to tell him tomorrow. Heck, she had to. It was Friday tomorrow and she couldn't leave it till the weekend; that'd be too last minute, as she left on Monday.

Paris would be fun. A new experience in Europe, somewhere completely out of the sphere of the continent of America. And it wouldn't be scary, not with Daniel there to…

Er, not protect her. Not quite take care of her. Those all sounded too…boyfriend-y…

_Don't become your own Hilda!_ Betty scolded herself. _The real one is plenty talk already._

Anyway. What was she thinking? Oh yeah. It wouldn't be scary, not with Daniel there to talk to, or, um, have fun with.

Patting her stuffed bear on the head, she dozed off eventually.


	2. Chapter 2

**Accusations d'amour**

A/N: this little fic is set during the time when Betty is still with Walter. It may or may not be D/B in the end.

* * *

**Flashlights and Razrs  
**

"Hey, Betty!"

She turned. "Daniel! You're coming in early today."

"Yeah, I've got to plan some things for Paris." He fell into step beside her in the busy street. "Are you okay for next week?"

"Yep," Betty said.

"Your dad was fine with it?"

"Yep," Betty said, trying not to think of Hilda's rants.

"How about, um," Daniel said. "Wil- nah, never mind."

"Not Wilbur, Walter," Betty said, patiently.

"Sorry."

"Well, I haven't had a chance to tell him yet."

"You should be able to now," Daniel said, nodding at a figure coming at them.

Betty turned in time to see Walter appear before her. "Hi! I brought you a manually rechargeable flashlight, Betty."

"Thank you, Walter!" Betty said, uncertainly.

Grinning rather inanely, Walter pressed the rectangular package into her arms. Then, turning to the boss, he went, "Yo."

Again, in that absolutely humiliating trying-to-be-cool way.

_Stop thinking like that_, Betty thought fiercely to herself. _He _is_ your boyfriend_.

Daniel smiled politely, his eyes betraying no emotion, though he wondered to himself as always what Betty could possibly see in this guy. "Hello, Walter." He looked to Betty, at Walter, back at Betty. "Well, I guess I'll get going. Betty, we can talk Paris when you come."

Walter stared at Daniel's departing back, and then turned to Betty, who was still cringing.

* * *

Trust Daniel to spill it before she had a chance to break it gently.

"Huh?" Walter asked.

Wondering how to phrase it, Betty was tongue-tied.

"Paris?" Walter asked. "You and – that guy?"

"Yeah," Betty said, and then looked alarmed at the single syllable her brain had managed to force into being. "I mean – not like – you know."

Still he stared. "But I don't understand, Betty."

Betty sighed, irritated suddenly and for no apparent reason. "Look, I gotta go," she said. "We can talk later." And she walked past, leaving Walter in the busy street.

_Gone again_, Walter thought. She always seemed to choose Daniel over him.

* * *

Betty knew she shouldn't have done that. But she couldn't stand that conversation, for some reason, couldn't stand explaining herself again – she'd explained countless things countless times since she'd landed the job at Mode.

And Walter bugged her more than she liked to admit.

She couldn't like Walter, a part of Betty realized, but her loyal heart slammed the opening of the idea shut. She had Walter, was lucky to have somebody who loved her.

It should be easy to tell him…just tell him she needed to go to Paris for a one-week fashion show.

Betty swung her bag onto her chair and went into Daniel's office.

"Hey." Daniel got up from his desk, holding a stack of paper. "I've got a print out of your e-ticket here, our itinerary, a guidebook, a phrasebook, a map, a list of phone numb-"

"Daniel. I'm the assistant, remember?" Betty grinned.

Daniel smiled, scratching his head. "Yeah…but in some way this is kinda…I don't know. Your trip."

Betty cocked her head. "My trip?"

"You know," Daniel said. "I wanna make it _fun_. So you can tell your family how untroublesome and great it was."

She smiled, slowly. "Really, don't worry about me. But thanks."

He smiled back at her.

She looked away, though she knew Hilda's words were nonsense…she, Betty, did not like – no, want – Daniel.

Raising an eyebrow slightly, he said, "Well. I've just gotta –"

He stopped abruptly mid-stride to his doorway, at Amanda's sudden appearance.

"It's fate," she breathed, smiling scarily, and he backed away slowly.

Advancing further into the room, Amanda caught sight of Betty. "Oh. You."

There was a pause.

"Er, yup!" Betty said. "Me."

"Oh I get it," Amanda said, turning to Daniel. "You want _her_." She jabbed an unsteady finger in Betty's general direction.

Daniel squinted at the receptionist. "Excuse me?"

"Go on, kiss her, or something." Amanda said, looking completely mad. "Just admit it. You've always liked her haven't you? She hangs on your every word and –"

"Are you drunk, Amanda?"

There was a pause.

"Yes!" She practically squealed the syllable, and gave Betty a push toward Daniel.

Given their height difference, Daniel and Betty did not bump mouths or even faces; instead, Daniel fumbled awkwardly to catch Betty, to prevent them from crashing backwards over a white sofa.

_You weren't touching her_, Daniel thought to himself, sternly, as he released his hold on her and straightened.

He looked up, annoyed, for Amanda, in time to see her motorazr flip shut.

"Ciao," she sang, and danced out of the room.

Daniel stared after her dazedly. "Well, she's finally lost it."

Betty gave him her disapproving look. "Maybe somebody should start considering her feelings more. So that her feelings wouldn't be taken out in strange accusations toward somebody's assistant."

"Alright," Daniel mumbled. "Okay. I'll just..."

He left the office.

Betty sighed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Accusations d'amour**

A/N: this little fic is set during the time when Betty is still with Walter. It may or may not be D/B in the end.

* * *

**Guarantees and telephones**

Later in the afternoon, Daniel was sat in his office reviewing the Book, and Betty sending out various emails and memos.

The sound of a commotion reached her ears vaguely, and she turned around.

The entire office of Mode froze, staring at her, then turned as a body back to their work, darting little surreptitious glances at her. Bewildered, she looked around, and her gaze settled on Walter, who was approaching her.

"Don't worry, Betty," Walter said, in a low voice, when he was right in front of her. "I'll take care of this. You'll be rid of him very soon."

Absolutely nonplussed, Betty said, "What? Take care of what? Who's 'him'?"

"Him," Walter said, with a covert nod towards Daniel's office.

Feeling a bit disorientated, Betty said, "What do you mean –"

"I'll take care of it," Walter said, pressing a finger to his lips as he backed away. "Shhhh."

"_Walter-?_"

Badly lost and aggravated, Betty sat back down at her desk, reaching for her mouse.

There was a minute of silence.

"Stop staring at me," she growled.

Audibly, the office turned hurriedly back to their work.

* * *

Walter's odd cryptic messages remained uneasily at the back of Betty's mind.

"Daniel," she said, eventually. "Do you mind if I go after Walter right now? There's something I need to…ask him."

"Oh, uh, sure," Daniel said, looking up. "You go ahead."

"Thanks. You're the best." With a quick smile she turned and rushed off.

Frowning slightly, Daniel looked back down at the Book.

* * *

A bright little tune rang somewhere far away, something almost annoyingly happy in its persistence.

Finally, it registered that it was Betty's mobile, and he got up and walked over to her desk, flipping it open.

"H-"

Before _hello?_ could leave his mouth, the person on the other end – whose voice he recognised as that of Betty's sister, Hilda – burst into speech.

"What's up, Betty? Have you told Walter about your little love trip to Paris with your boss yet?"

There was a pause.

"Little _what_ trip?"

There was an even longer pause.

"Oh, _crap_," Hilda said. "This _is_ the boss, isn't it."

"Well, I'm Daniel," he confirmed, doubtfully.

"Nice talking!" Hilda said, brightly. "Bye!"

"Wait –"

But the dial tone rang in his ears. Disgruntled and confused, he flipped the phone shut and set it down.

Suddenly getting a creepy feeling, he turned to face the office.

Immediately, a dozen heads snapped back to their work.

"What?"

Nobody replied. There was the odd little furtive look at him.

Speechless, Daniel walked back to his office.

* * *

When Betty walked into his office, Daniel leapt up from his seat and, rushing over, shut the door behind her.

"Betty."

"Yes?" she looked rather hassled, but the expression faded slightly as she turned to him.

"Have you noticed something _weird_ going on?" he said, dragging her over to one of the white couches that was not in plain view from the outer Mode office.

"Um – why, have you?"

"They're staring at me," Daniel hissed.

"Oh, God, yes, they were staring at me too," Betty said. "Earlier. And then Walter said something really weird."

Wide-eyed, Daniel looked incredibly child-like, and she stifled a laugh.

Recovering slightly, he said, "What did Walter say? Is it anything to do with why they're staring at you? And me?"

"Walter said…" Betty broke off, recollecting his strange words. "He said not to worry, he'd take care of this, and I'll be rid of him soon."

Daniel stood up, his hand jumping almost automatically to the back of his head, the other on his waist. "What's he talking about?"

Betty shrugged.

"Who will you be rid of soon?"

In the eerie silence that followed, Daniel turned to stare at his assistant, waiting for an answer.

"…You, apparently."

He continued to stare uncomprehendingly, and then sat down behind his desk. "Okay. I don't have time for this right now. Hopefully things will…work themselves out."

"Right," Betty said, nodding. "Absolutely. I'm sure they will."


	4. Chapter 4

**Accusations d'amour**

A/N: Thank you all for the positive reviews! They do brighten my days :) This ish is kinda short; just a scene from the flight.

* * *

**Airplanes and tarmac  
**

That Monday, the Mode brigade delegated to Fashion Week trooped onto the Paris flight. Daniel sat down, fastened his seat belt, and began to leaf through an old Paris Mode magazine.

After a few minutes, he noticed a strange stiffness about Betty beside him. It looked as though she was bracing for a blow.

"Betty?"

"Oh, er, hi," she said, nervously. "Just…relaxing!" She gripped the airplane armrests and flashed him a bright smile.

"You're scared of flying." He closed his magazine.

"No, I'm not."

A grin began to break on Daniel's face. "You so are."

"Okay, I am," Betty snapped. "Stop gloating."

Daniel pouted slightly. "Sorry."

He snuck several surreptitious sideways glances at her from behind his magazine as he pretended to read again. But then again, with Betty, it seemed nothing he did could be overlooked.

"Stop it," she hissed, after his fourth or fifth glance.

"Sorry," he said again, meekly. Then, dropping all pretense, he turned to her and said, comfortingly, "You know, statistically speaking, flying is the safest way to travel."

"Thank you, Superman," Betty said, sarcastically, but she relaxed slightly despite her skepticism.

"You're welcome." He patted her hand. "Need me to hold your hand, too?"

"Shut up," Betty snarled (most uncharacteristically).

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Thank you for choosing to fly with us…"

"…please fasten your seat belts as we are now preparing for take off."

At the last two words, Betty tensed again, sitting straight up in her seat and pressing the back of her head to the cushion, as she had once read in the instructions of a roller coaster ride (her first and last).

The taxiing was a long wait, and when the plane began to lift off –

Betty's fingers skimmed Daniel's knuckles, and he raised his eyebrows at her.

She looked away defiantly, jerking her hand away, and grit her teeth as the plane rose off the ground entirely.

During the flight, she managed to relax, commenting with barely repressed relief how smooth the ride was.

"Yep," Daniel said. "No air turbulence yet."

"Turbulence?" Betty repeated. "Yet? What do you mean?"

"Oh, there's always a bit of bumpiness later in the flight," Daniel said, casually.

"Dan-" her voice was pitched at about the height of the plane.

"Okay, just kidding," Daniel said. "Sorry." He apologized for the third time.

* * *

It was the landing that waited ominously. Betty anticipated it with a mixture of dread and longing to get her feet on solid ground again.

The plane jerked as it descended, bumped, jolted – a barrage of jarring adjectives flew through Betty's mind, and the largest jerk came when the wheels hit the tarmac.

"Phew," she sighed as they finally began to roll, and looked down from a gaze that had been fixed directly in front of her. It was only then that she noticed her hand, relaxed now, in Daniel's.

Betty looked at him swiftly, expecting to see a smirk on his face, but there was a strange serious look in his blue eyes. She felt a gentle pressure on her hand.

She drew her hand away and unfastened her seatbelt, turning aside.


	5. Chapter 5

**Accusations d'amour**

A/N: Apologies for the horribly long gap, and also this chapter may be a bit random. As always, constructive criticism and comments very welcome.

* * *

**Breakfast and P****apers  
**

"G-g'morning," Betty stammered between her yawn. "Why do we need to be up so early?"

It was six thirty and Daniel and Betty were relatively alone in the breakfast room. "Minor issue with the first meeting," Daniel said, apologetically. "I could use your help."

"No problem," Betty said, sitting down with her plate piled from the buffet. "Shoot."

He smiled affectionately at his assistant, already getting pumped so early in the morning.

They discussed the meeting relaxedly, laughing at times, gesturing freely as they ate. There was no residue from that tiny moment on the plane, and Betty was glad. About a half hour later, just a little after seven, most dutiful tourists had gotten up and the room was buzzing.

Betty noticed it first. It was a woman, dressed like any other tourist, staring at her from above her lowered newspaper. The tourist hurriedly looked away from Betty's gaze, raising the paper again.

Almost immediately after that, they noticed the man at the table closest to theirs looking surreptitiously at Daniel, and then across to Betty. He passed a handheld to his wife beside him; after a few seconds she too looked up and gawked openly.

"Why are people staring at us here as well?" Daniel hissed, leaning in closer.

"How would I know?"

One of the Mode team girls came up to their table, her face almost deliberately expressionless. "I think you'll want to see this, Daniel." She gave him a copy of the New York paper he usually read back at Mode. Frowning in curiousity, he looked at the page that was folded out.

Daniel knocked his fork off the table with a reflexive little jerk of his elbow, giving a twisted swallow-y choke at the same time.

"What is it?" Betty rose and went to his side, but he fairly crumpled the paper in half.

"It's...not relevant, Betty."

She gave him a severe look, but he still clutched the paper. Marching down to the tourist she had first seen staring at her, she asked, politely, "May I look at your newspaper?"

* * *

**Betty & the Boss?**

Could Daniel Meade, one-time most eligible bachelor of New York and famed Lothario, be dating his assistant? Recent reports have circulated of this less-than-healthy workplace relationship.

Betty Suarez, a 23-year-old girl Queens girl, has been a most unlikely addition to the Mode family. Rumour has it that she was hired by Bradford for his son as a means of decreasing the younger Meade's temptations for on-the-job flings.

But has this backfired? Images have surfaced that provide strong basis for our suspicions. Betty's boyfriend, Walter, has claimed that Betty is "trapped in this." "It's time we all knew the truth," he said. "And the truth will set Betty free."

* * *

A most unearthly shriek escaped a certain tourist from the breakfast room of the Ritz-Carlton Paris.

* * *

When Betty had calmed down from the embarrassment of screaming in public, she steamed in her hotel room. Daniel paced obsessively back and forth, looking pale and panicky.

"I can't believe they ran an entire article on us."

"I can't believe Walter did that." So that was what his stupid secrecy had been about. What the _heck_ had he been thinking?

"What are we gonna _do_?"

"We can let PR run a standard rebuttal statement," Betty said, hopefully.

"PR's for Mode, Betty, not for me personally."

"Yeah, but you're the editor-in-chief..."

"Screw that," Daniel said, suddenly. "Can you figure out what Wilbur's on?"

She did not bother to correct him as she took out her mobile.

* * *

"_OH MY GOD, BETTY!! _WHAT_ WAS THAT_?"

"It was a load of rubbish, Hilda! And I need to speak to Walter right _now_, so I have to hang up-"

"Oh, Walter? He's here."

"What do you mean he's _there_?"

"He was the one who showed us the article, Betty! We don't usually get the paper."

"Will you give him the phone?"

"Hi, Bet-"

"AND THE TRUTH WILL SET YOU FREE? What are you on about, Walter?!"

"But Betty! I was just trying to help-"

"With _what_?!"

"With Daniel!"

"Why would I need help _with Daniel?!_" She felt like she was arguing nonsense, which it was; what the heck was Walter talking about, what was he thinking - what had he been thinking this whole time?

"Because he's been bothering you, okay! He obviously likes you so much - getting you to go to _Paris_ with him - he just needs to realise that you're not going to like him because you're with - you're with _me_."

Betty actually stared at her phone before answering. "Walter, what are you talking about?"

"You're with me, aren't you, Betty?"

Was this _jealousy_? This whole convoluted nonsensical scheme brought about by Walter's _jealousy _that she had gone to Paris with Daniel?

"Walter...just stop, will you? Stop everything."

There was silence on the end of the line, but she could picture him nodding meekly.

"Okay, I'll see you when I get back."

"Wait - you never answered me, Betty."

She paused. "Yes," she said, drawing the syllable almost reluctantly from her mouth. "Goodbye, Walter."

* * *

"And you said things would _work themselves out_, Daniel."

He drove on, looking angry and apologetic at the same time. "Let's just forget it and concentrate on this trip."

The sky was blue, Betty thought, a nice calming blue that reminded her how the sky was the same all the world over. It was the same sun she saw now here that Papi and Hilda were seeing back at home.

"Alright."


	6. Chapter 6

**Accusations d'amour**

A/N: I am loving Heroes and Ugly Betty right now.

* * *

**Hair & Makeup**

"There's a _ball_ tomorrow?" Betty said.

"Yeah," Daniel said. "It should be pretty fun. I mean, yeah, it could be a bit old-fashioned, but -"

"Daniel," Betty interrupted. "There is a _ball_ tomorrow."

He looked puzzled. "Yeah."

"There is a ball tomorrow, and I'm not going."

Looking completely bewildered, he asked, "Why?"

"Because I _hate_ balls!" she wailed. "I boycotted my _prom_, Daniel. I wouldn't go for my life."

"If you've never been to one, you can't hate it," he said, but his tone was pleading.

It was ridiculous how much his puppy eyes could affect her, Betty thought, and she relented slightly, switching to a different tack. "Well, it's too bad. I don't have a dress."

"That's easy," Daniel said, looking relieved. "We'll buy you one tonight."

* * *

"No," Betty said, shaking her head firmly.

The three of them, the boss, the assistant and Carole from the Mode team, stopped abruptly outside Prada, Daniel gesturing helplessly. "Betty..."

"No way." She seemed to dig her heels in, crossing her arms.

He turned, despairingly, to Carole. "I can't get her to go in any of these shops."

"We should just bundle her in," the young redhead said, grimly.

"Carole," Betty said, shocked. "You can't just do that."

The Mode girl grinned. "You have to get over your outer contempt and innate fear of fashion sometime."

Betty turned to Daniel; he looked helpless still, and seemed on the verge of backing down.

"Honestly," Carole scoffed. "You have such a huge soft spot for your _wonderful assistant_, Daniel. So go away and let me work her round."

Somehow, after several more dismissals, each getting sterner, she managed to shoo the Editor-in-Chief away. Then she gave Betty an (so Betty thought) evil grin of triumph.

"So," she said, dripping poisonous honey. "How about a dress for our prom princess?"

* * *

"Ooh, I love this one," Carole said, holding out a little black dress. Betty brushed past without a word, and she put it back, huffing. "Just a suggestion. You got any?"

With a hopeful look, Betty pointed at a high-backed, high-topped, long light blue affair. Her companion wrinkled her nose. "Ew."

She rolled her eyes.

They went through about five more dresses before Carole began accumulating several over her arm. "You're gonna need to try these on," she announced somberly.

Betty hesitated after trying four on, consecutively; black, blue, green, and a lovely dark shiny red.

"I don't like the black on you," Carole said, decisively. "Not lively enough. But then that leaves blue, green and red. Which do you like, then?"

Flushing slightly, Betty considered. She liked the red one the most; however, it was also the most revealing of the three. Not that any of them were particularly revealing at all. But to her...

Heck, she decided. She'd worn far worse (like that horrible leather affair in her first days at Mode).

"The red one," she said, and it was done.

* * *

"Betty!" Carole grinned. "You look awesome. Now we're halfway there."

They were in the hotel the next day, six hours before the ball was to start at eight.

"_Halfway_ there?" Betty repeated, apprehensively.

"Well, yeah," Carole said. "I mean, we obviously still need hair and makeup." She turned to the mirror and adjusted her own ball dress.

"Oh, I don't think that's nec-"

"So the people are coming in a few minutes," Carole continued, smoothly. "Sit back, Betty! Enjoy this stuff. It's not torture."

"But - I don't _do_ hair and makeup," Betty broke in, finally.

The girl frowned. "What d'you mean?"

"Like - I don't _do _them. I'm not that type of - girl."

"Well today you are," Carole snorted. "It's a ball, for God's sake. You can't go there like that -" gesturing at Betty's face "-heck, I can't go there like this." She gestured now to her immaculate cover girl complexion.

Betty settled forlornly on a chair, and waited.

* * *

At six, she rose from the chair and made her way out the door to the lobby to meet Daniel and the rest for dinner before the dance, studiously ignoring Carole.

"Come on, Betty," she cajoled. "You look _good_. Different, yeah, but _good_. Why are you so _against_ that?"

"Because," Betty said, surprising Carole by speaking to her, "it's not me. It makes me a person I'm not. Like I'm trying too hard. Pretending. I don't fit in in places like this, never have, never will, can't just start now."

They paused in their progress. "You're bigger than your past," Carole said, finally. "Things change. People change. Cliches both but cliched because they're true, Betty."

"Now come on," she said, amiably, without waiting for a response. "We got some places to go."

* * *

She hadn't seen Daniel since he left at Prada the other day, Betty thought, and then realised that she felt slightly nervous, her stomach the way it had been before interviews and exams.

What would Daniel think?


	7. Chapter 7

**Accusations d'amour**

A/N: I have shamelessly ripped off Tornado Girl.

* * *

**Hope & Gold  
**

Betty descended the stairs, feeling self-conscious and slightly ridiculous. Here she was, Betty Suarez from Queens, all decked out in a ball dress that trailed embarrassingly behind her.

Daniel's back was turned to her; he was dressed in a tuxedo, and she thought bitterly for a brief moment how men didn't have to give a thought to what they were going to wear.

His left hand in his pocket, head cocked slightly at that distinctive angle, he gestured slightly in conversation with a Mode aide, who was also tuxedo-clad. "And in the winter," he was saying.

"The women have arrived," Carole declared, arms raised, entering the midst of the Modies with enviable confidence. Betty hung back just beyond the edge of the circle, hesitant.

"Hey," Daniel said. "Carole! Did you get Betty a dress alright?"

"You can see for yourself," she responded, looking past him with a smile of both pride and encouragement.

He turned, following her gaze, and found his assistant.

* * *

The other people blurred together in the background like unfocused city-lights at nighttime when Daniel approached her; every detail of him was in sharp clarity, the black of his jacket, the white of his dress shirt, the blue of his eyes. Later she would remember it and wonder at what a strange reaction it had been. Daniel was just her boss and friend. Why should she care so much what he thought?

"Betty," he said, eyes widening, "You look - you look -"

She smiled weakly at him. Maybe it wasn't such a terrible idea, this ball, this dressing up. She was still the same person, just in different clothes.

"You look _beautiful_," he said, and swallowed. After a pause, "Not that you - didn't. Weren't. I mean, you _were_. Just. Tonight, you are just -"

Daniel stopped, tongue-tied, and just _smiled_ at her.

With a soft _whumpf_, Betty launched herself at Daniel and hugged him. He laughed slightly, staggering back a step. "Thanks. Thanks so much."

"You're gonna have fun tonight," he promised, and for the first time she actually believed him.

* * *

"Word has it," Fashion TV correspondent Simon Greene said, "that tonight, Daniel Meade will be making an appearance at the annual Fashion Fights charity ball. Mr. Meade has twice before attended the event, the first time with supermodel Ann-Marie, and the second with Chanel's new face, Pilar Rossi. Which has the columnists all gossiping: who will be the hottie - or the nottie - this time?"

Meanwhile, in a car passing through a tunnel due west of the location, a bunch of excited Modies plus Daniel and Betty headed onward.

* * *

"I'd forgotten there were so many people," Daniel mused, staring out the window. Betty gave a little squeak.

"Don't worry," he said, reassuringly. "They're only after the supermodels and designers."

"Yeah, they won't notice the editor of Mode magazine at all," she snapped.

He sighed. The car pulled up to the standard drop-off point, in front of the velvet carpet that was lined on either side with cameras and flashlights going off. A smartly dressed man with a neatly perched hat stepped forward and opened their door for them.

"Come on," Daniel urged, and he ducked out, tugging a reluctant Betty with him by hooking his arm through hers.

There was a collective gasp from the media, and the two of them were instantly blinded by a torrent of camera flashes.

* * *

"So the rumours are true!" Simon gasped into the microphone before shoving it at Daniel. "When did you really start this relationship with your assistant, Mr. Meade?"

"What?" Daniel stared from the camera to the microphone, to Betty beside him. "I - no! They aren't true. I -"

Simon turned to the lens with a serious face, ignoring Daniel's protestations. "And so it seems the hiring of Ms. Betty Suarez has _backfired_. Who would have thought that she would be the gold-digging type?"

Daniel heard it in disbelief, and he grabbed the Simon guy by the shoulder in anger. "Hey. Hey, _look_. None of this is Betty's fault. Not that there _is_ anything to blame on anyone."

But like the perfect gossip, Simon had gone conveniently deaf; he moved off with his crew, still blabbering his sensational nonsense.

* * *

Daniel was still fuming by the time they entered the ballroom, which though crowded with socialites and wannabes was mercifully free of press. He turned to Betty, and felt a sharp kick of pain at the expression on her face. She was bordering on tears, and these were tears not just of anger but of embarrassment.

"Betty," he said, softly, reaching for her. She edged from his fingers. He stopped.

"We all know it's not true," Daniel said. "It's just their rubbish. Come on. It'll blow over."

"It _won't_," Betty said, fiercely. "Not for me. I'm not Daniel Meade; I'm just an assistant. All I _had_ was my reputation, Daniel, and now I don't even have that. I'm a _gold-digger_." She began to move away; he began to follow, but she turned and cut him short. "Just stay here. Leave me alone." It was said with more despair than anger; she wasn't blaming him, but she wasn't happy either.

* * *

"-would have thought that she would be the gold-digging type?"

"What!" Hilda roared at the TV. Ignacio stared, pale-faced, and Justin watched with indignation and just the slightest bit of amusement. (Come on. Somebody had to see the humour in this. Aunt Betty, a _gold-digger_?)

"I _told_ her it was going to be weird going to Paris with those people," Hilda set in, looking pissed off. "And what do we get? She and Daniel going to a frickin' ball on _tv_. Dressed like she's going to the frickin' _Oscars_."

"Aw, come on, Mom," Justin said. "She looked really nice."

"_Exactly_!" Hilda said. As she spoke, she poked furiously at her phone.

"What're you doing?" Ignacio asked, frowning.

"What do you _think_ I'm doing?"

* * *

_Author's Note: Any suggestions what to happen next?_


End file.
